


Back to Good

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the way the world ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to Good

**Author's Note:**

> This is rather depressing. Just a warning. Also, it's not about abuse. I'm not sure if I made it clear in the fic, so. yes. anyway. Title stolen from matchbox twenty.

You'll take his touches any way you can now. You don't mind if they're rough or forceful, if they leave marks, if you're sore for days. At least he's touching you, and that's better than nothing at all.

You know it's not abuse. You could stop it if you wanted; you're bigger than him, after all. It hurts him just as much, you know, because you hear his gasping sobs sometimes. But to pretend that things are sweet, to be tender, would be worse, and so you accept him when he forces himself into you, stinging and angry. You open to him. You let him use you. You want him to use you.

You'd rather be used, you think. It's easier. You're not sure if you could bear a gentle kiss or a soft touch anymore. It might not hurt your body but your heart would be bruised beyond repair. If it isn't already.

* * *

It wasn't always like this, of course. There was a time when you were everything to each other. You flirted in public, dared each other to stupid silly acts, sucked each other off in broom closets five minutes before a public appearance and just held hands and grinned when JC shouted at you about being unprofessional. It was all casual and fun and you told him every night how much you loved him, and he would imprint your body with his, his sharp voice hissing in your ear, and you thought it would be good between you forever.

You weren't prepared for it when his dark eyes began to turn away from you. He had sworn he'd never leave you -- and vice versa -- but at the same time you knew you'd never own him. He wasn't ever someone who could be owned. You were afraid to ask for more, afraid that he wouldn't be able to give it or, worse, wouldn't want to give it. So you kept your mouth shut when he started going out with Lance. He asked you if it was all right, of course, and you said yes, of course. Because you loved him and you wanted him to be happy.

That damn Sting song kept going through your head -- "If you love somebody, set them free" -- and you hated the way your brain sets everything to music.

When he and Lance started spending more and more time together, you looked the other way. Didn't want to see. The worst was seeing the looks that would pass between them, the astonished look of love on Lance's face and the way Chris reflected it like sunlight bouncing off the moon. They were happy. They were growing together, inevitably, away from you.

JC came over to your house once while you were watching your daughter and trying not to think of them. He put Briahna in her crib for an overdue nap, then led you into the other bedroom and undressed you and took you to bed. You closed your eyes and told yourself you weren't pretending that he was Chris. The pillows didn't smell like Chris anymore.

JC stayed the night, but in the morning you asked him to leave because you didn't want things to be awkward between you. He nodded, seeming to understand, and gave you a final, gentle, parting kiss. His eyes were a little wet when he left, and you felt even worse.

And then Lance went to Russia and Chris was disconsolate. You tried to be there for him, you tried so hard to comfort him in ways that didn't involve sex, but you felt dumb and slow and unable to read him anymore. He'd changed, and where you could once tell by a glance what he was thinking, now you had to search for clues. He pulled away from your hugs, flinched when you tried to touch him. So you stopped coming over. You thought you'd let him come to you instead, because you were pretty sure he didn't want you anymore.

Two weeks went by where you had no human contact but Kelly and Briahna. _This is my life now_ you thought and found yourself crying in the middle of the supermarket, holding a box of cereal and feeling like a fool.

When Chris showed up at the house, you didn't know what to make of it. He was hurting; he'd just come back from a super-secret weekend visit to Moscow, and he was tired and jetlagged and you were so fucking grateful to see him that you let him do whatever he wanted. You were just happy that he was in your bed again, his hands on your wrists, teeth sharp on your shoulder as his body moved over you, inside you. "I love you," you breathed when you came, and his face, pressed to your neck, was wet.

"Love you, too," he whispered against your skin, raw-voiced.

You thought it might be different after that, but it was useless to hope. His visits became more frequent; after a time, you learned when to anticipate them, and you'd be ready, waiting for him to take control, to lose himself in the sex that could no longer be called lovemaking. Once upon a time, you'd almost always topped him. Now you surrendered. At least you still got to touch him. He'd stay overnight and then leave in the morning, before you woke up, and in the shower you'd catalogue your new bruises and shiver with the memory of how you got them. Usually you'd end up jerking off in the shower as well.

So this is your life now, his rough hands and hard kisses, his angry fucking. You don't even speak most of the time these days; certainly not to say that you love him. Mostly it's just "please" or "yes". You figure it's all you're entitled to for not speaking up when you had the chance, and you'll take what you can get now. It's good enough, and you won't let anyone tell you otherwise. You're just counting the days until November and the time that the guy who used to be your best friend comes back, because that's when it will be over.


End file.
